


Amadeus

by atutsie



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: AI Ash Lynx, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Closure for everyone, In which Eiji gains the best 2D husbando, M/M, Many pain hope yall ready for that, Mentions of Makise Kurisu and Prof Leskinen, Same universe as Steins;Gate 0, angst with bittersweet ending?, because they all need to be freed from the pain, i'm a slut for singeiji leave me alone, some fluffs?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 15:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17389118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atutsie/pseuds/atutsie
Summary: Sing sees the same golden hair, same jade green eyes, same blue hoodie, brows furrowed with his lips turned into an unamused grimace.It’s been seven years,he thinks, and he has not aged ever since.“Ash,” he says.orAU where AI Ash becomes the catalyst for Eiji to move on (And Sing's and Yue's)





	Amadeus

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic as a sign of my acceptance of the ending. It was for my closure. But then episode 24 happened and I played myself until now I can't rewatch it. Shoutouts to my friends who made this possible:
> 
> [@crunchyswan](https://www.twitter.com/crunchyswan) \- it's sad we weren't able to do a collab bc i know real life happened but i really appreciated you listening to my rants about this fic and sharing ideas to me when i was just beginning to write this!  
> [@lauren](https://www.twitter.com/singeiji) and [@angeldescndnt](https://www.twitter.com/angeldescndnt) \- thanks for constantly asking me 'are you gonna be okay?' or 'how's the fic?'  
> [@kurasuchi ](https://www.twitter.com/kurasuchi) \- thanks for proof reading my fic, for sound boarding ideas with me and for giving me quality angst songs to listen to while writing this

_My dearest friend Sing Soo-Ling,_

 

_A gift especially made for you to celebrate the long years of our friendship._

_I hope you like it._

 

Sing wants to think this is a prank. That perhaps, Yut-Lung finally had some free time and he decided to spend it by carrying out an elaborate and over-the-top prank, because _of course,_ this is Yut-Lung, it has to be overdramatic. It has to be sent from overseas, delivered inside his room, trespassing Eiji’s house in the process without any trace at all. And then there’s the card with a _stupidly expensive_ Smythson paper, with neat and elegant strokes of Mandarin probably written with a _stupidly expensive_ Montblanc pen.

 

But as amusing as it was to imagine that Yut-Lung had finally grown a funny bone in his Barbie doll body, Sing knows the punchline would be, _‘This is the beginning of our pact. Chinatown needs you once again.’_ And Sing does not mind, he knows this life of normalcy and comfort was temporary. Perhaps he has to start practicing his swings for his Flying Dragon Fang and work on his boxing skills not as a stress reliever but as another weapon.

 

He leans back, tipping his head up, allowing the ceiling light to go through the thin sheet. Perhaps there is a secret code here? Perhaps he needs a UV light to decipher the real meaning behind this message?

 

There had to be something, _anything_.

 

Because there’s _no fucking way,_ Yut-Lung would send a ‘surprise’ gift to Sing as a ‘friendly’ gesture. There has to be a catch.

 

 _Suspicious,_ Sing thinks, rolling his eyes back to the unoffending box on his desk.

 

He places the note on top of the package.

 

 _A gift for our friendship, huh,_ he thinks.

 

Yut-Lung had given him _a lot_ in the name of friendship. _‘Go to school. Then you decide the future you’d create for yourself,’_ Yut-Lung had told him. And Sing did, despite the reluctance of owing anything from the new boss of the Lee Clan, cautious that anytime the snake in him would slither back and collect this debt threefold. But Yut-Lung never did. He has left them alone for years, gone were the days where he hired everyone, _anyone_ to assassinate Eiji, or the days where he whined about jealousy and bitterness with his life, desperate to drag everyone to the pits of hell with him. He has grown up and moved on.

 

Yut-Lung never said it, but Sing believes he made that offer because at that time everything was in chaos, he had no direction in life —after hearing the news, after standing in front of Ash’s lifeless body, of Lao’s, after knowing the _truth,_ filling him with guilt and regret, with anger mostly to himself, _I should’ve talked to Lao, I should’ve come back, I should’ve_ — He stops the thought right away. Yut-Lung was reaching out to Sing in his own unorthodox and round-about way.

 

So _this_ Yut-Lung would _never_ send something as shallow and impersonal as this materialistic gift for _the long years of their friendship._ Not to Sing, at least.

 

“Suspicious,” Sing says to no one. “Very, very suspicious.”

 

 _What if this is a trap?_ He thinks, propping his chin on his palm once again, unamused eyes staring at ‘Ash’. It was merely a passing thought, just something to enumerate all possibilities. _But would he really mean harm after all these years? Would he hurt Eiji again?_ But didn’t he owe this to Yut-Lung? Having the right to live _with_ Eiji, belonging inside Eiji’s world without constantly worrying about the threat in his life. Even if it’s temporary. ( _Just until Eiji is happy again,_ Sing thinks.) And this is where Ash failed, where the line was drawn, where everything fell apart for them. _For Ash and Eiji._

 

He stares at the screen, and Sing thinks that if this were the real Ash, he’d be looking straight into those fierce yet beautiful jade green eyes, always, _always_ on guard, creating an impenetrable wall between him and everyone else (except Eiji, where those intimidating eyes would melt into affection and _trust_ ). _What do you think, Ash?_ Sing ponders —and perhaps, he should stop this line of thought— that if Ash were alive, would they be the same height? Would he still be looking up at Ash? Perhaps Sing could be towering him. Or would they be equals?

 

If Ash were alive, would Sing still be by Eiji’s side—

 

Sing covers his face, shaking his head as he breathes out a mirthless laugh.

 

“It’s always about _you_.” He grits his teeth and sighs. He props his chin on the other side, brows furrowed with a lopsided smile, as his gaze softens. “We just can’t escape from you, huh, Aslan Jade Callenreese—”

 

_Ding!_

 

Sing freezes. It was faint and muffled but he was certain he heard a start-up sound from a device. He leans back on the chair, staring at the ceiling and discreetly, he moves his eyes to every dark corner of the room. Was he being watched? Just a bug? A camera? He tries to feel his surroundings, enhancing all of his senses. Maybe he was right, it was a trap all along. But why—

 

_“Oi.”_

 

Sing straightens his back, pushes himself up and almost falls on the floor because of his abrupt movements. He jerks his head around, frantic eyes searching for _him_ . A voice echoes at the back of his mind. _‘I want him...to go back to HIS world,’_ it says, pain bleeding through every word, whole body trembling, feet struggling to stay in place. _No,_ he thinks, his heart is thrumming so fast, so loud, he wouldn’t be surprised if it jumps out of his rib cage.   _No, no, no_ , he thinks more fervently, cold sweat on his palms, mouth drying up. _No fucking way. I’m just hearing th—_

 

_“C’mon. Open up this box. I can’t see shit.”_

 

Sing pauses, eyes rolling to the package before him. He swallows a non-existent lump, his hand reaching out slowly, reluctantly.

 

 _‘Mine’s full of guns and death—’_ the voice continues, spitting out _‘death’_ like poison, appalled with the truth he had to swallow, _‘—and I don’t want him to have anything to do with THAT crap again.’_

 

How long has it been since he heard that voice?

 

Sing thinks, as his fingers lift the cover of the box, as the heat start pricking in his eyes, that what if… _What if he changed his mind the last minute but was done in by Lao before he could—_

 

 **_< <_ ** _You’re not Yut-Lung. Who are you?_ **_> >_ **

 

Sing blinks.

 

Tears and painful memories all forgotten at that moment, as he stares at the black smartphone inside the box. He picks it up, focusing his eyes on the screen.

 

He blinks again, and again. Maybe if he blinks fast enough, this _hallucination_ will disappear and he’ll finally be back to reality.

 

Nothing changes.

 

He sees the same golden hair, same jade green eyes, same blue hoodie, brows furrowed with his lips turned into an unamused grimace.

 

 _It’s been seven years,_ he thinks, and he has not aged ever since.

 

“Ash,” he says.

 

Yut-Lung did grow a funny bone in his body and Sing would’ve congratulated his friend, celebrated it with him if it grew in the right place, but Sing believes it must’ve sprouted in his dick if he thought that a good punchline would be a Pocket Ash who looks like those realistic CGIs from the movies now trapped inside the phone screen.

* * *

 

The soft clicks of bare feet against the wood resonate around the room; they were long, brisk strides going back and forth, back and forth. Sing feels Buddy’s eyes on him (who went inside his room the moment Sing began pacing) following his every step and he would’ve rewarded him with loving strokes on his head to ease his worry if not for the fact that he is too occupied with his phone right now.

 

 _Dammit Yut-Lung. Answer me,_ he thinks, clicking his tongue when he heard that robotic voice saying, _‘Voice mailbox is full—’._ He ends the call right away. He grits his teeth, fist clenching so hard he feels his nails digging on his palm. He needs that dull pain to concentrate properly. Because right now, he wants to punch something, he wants to direct all of this bloodthirst to the beautiful face of Yut-Lung.

 

That asshole deserves it anyway.

 

 _Gift for me my ass!This is clearly for Eiji!_ He thinks loudly, hoping that the hostility will reach Yut-Lung wherever he is. Yut-Lung is basically giving him the choice whether to give this to Eiji or not, because technically it belongs to him now. His friend probably thinks it’s just common courtesy to not directly address this to Eiji which, okay, given the nature of their non-existent relationship right now, Sing understands.

 

 _But if Eiji sees this—_ He does not even dare to continue the thought. It would be like opening a fucking Pandora’s box and Eiji will be sucked in, _willingly_. He will never emerge and would gladly live his whole life there.

 

He stops, staring at his phone and on his peripheral vision, he sees another pair of eyes —or phone camera or whatever— watching him. He turns his head, looking at ‘Pocket Ash’ leaning against the monitor of ‘Ash’, the computer, which really sounds funny, if only it were just a joke. But he’s stuck with the reality of _digital_ Ash twins. Pocket Ash’s hands are inside its jacket pockets, its features schooled to a resting sass face.

 

Sing is _mystified._ In the twenty one years he’s lived, Sing was able to easily adapt to any situation, no matter what’s in front of him. He’ll be able to act accordingly. But _this,_ it’s just too much, he doesn’t even know how he’ll absorb this. Maybe this is a recording before his death? But no. ‘Pocket Ash’ was talking to him in real time. There was also the fact that it does not recognize Sing, not even when he introduced himself.

 

 **_< <_ ** _What’s with the stupid face?_ **_> >_ ** _‘_ Pocket Ash’ says.

 

 _This is definitely Ash,_ Sing thinks.

 

Or maybe, somewhere far away, Ash is using this thing as his avatar, acting as a proxy to speak with Sing. He’s always been knowledgeable with computers after all. Maybe, somewhere far _far_ away, Ash is alive, just hiding from everyone—and then when the fated time has come he would just appear in front of them with that shit-eating grin and say, _‘I’ve defeated Jesus and came back from the dead for the second time.’_

 

And everyone would be running to him with open arms, celebrating the resurrection of our dear lord and savior, Ash Lynx.

 

He slams his hands on his face, briskly rubbing his face, he might’ve erased it. He breathes in and out. Pauses. _Hah. This is making me think of stupid things._ It turns him back to that naive teenager who still holds onto the belief that his hero would come back from the dead _again_ , because death can _never_ touch Ash, he’s always been strong, even when the truth —that cold, lifeless body— was right into his face.

 

He lets his hands slide down to his sides. He then takes the seat in front of the computer. Buddy was already lying on the floor, deep in his slumber. He then picks up the blasted phone with both hands.

 

“Hey Pocket Ash,” Sing says.

 

 **< <** ‘ _Pocket Ash’?_ **_>_ ** **>** it says, snickering. **< <** _That snake’s gonna be hissing at you if h—_ **_> >_ **

 

“You’re dead, right?” he says, abrupt and firm, concealing the desperation in his voice. He swallows the forming lump in his throat, along with the budding hope that begins to resurface. _Let it be dissolved by the cold truth._ “I mean, the _real_ you is dead.”

 

 ** _< <_** _It was all over the news. Didn’t you watch it?_ ** _> >_** Pocket Ash, who now has glasses, pulls up tabs of articles from the side of the screen. **_< <_** _Ash Lynx Gang Lead—_ ** _ >>_**

 

“Not that. That was your fake death.”

 

He notices the quick change in ‘Ash’s’ expression: brows drawn together, green eyes glinting with firm vigilance, his voice—though a little muffled and filtered by the speaker—dripping with authority. His words are loud and abrupt:

 

 **_< <_ ** _What was your relationship with the ‘original’ me? Only a few knew that._ **_> >_ **

 

Sing pauses. If his old gang members were here they would be silenced right away. Sing is awed, even an ‘Ash’ like this —whatever this is— is able to elicit such emotions. It moves and talks exactly as the real Ash. _As though Ash is alive once again,_ Sing thinks.

 

But he’s been dead for seven years and that will never change.

 

And yet he could not stop the smile that ghosts his lips, the lingering fondness in his voice as he says: “We had the same enemies but different goals.” He props his cheek on his fist, the curve on his lips widening, eyes softening as he stares at his jade green eyes. “We fought battles together. I was the Chinatown boss after Shorter… was gone, y’know. It was—”

 

He pauses. He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shakes his head. When he opens his eyes, he sees Pocket Ash with an unreadable look on its face. He does not dwell into the fact that it was induced from the mention of ‘Shorter’. _Whatever this is, it’s just a program,_ he thinks.

 

The more he interacts with this Pocket Ash, the more he’s convinced. _This must be destroyed before it’s too late._ Before he gets deluded and sucked into this blissful illusion. _What more if it’s with Eiji?_ The thought brings dread throughout his body.

 

A lopsided grin formed on his lips, as if challenging Ash from his grave, challenging himself. _Don’t get caught,_ he says, mocking.

 

“I was the first person who ‘visited’ you in the morgue. So now, tell me, Pocket Ash, how the _fuck_ am I talking to a ghost?”

 

Pocket Ash opens its mouth and closes it right away, lips turned into a thin line.

 

 ** _< <_** _Amadeus,_ ** _> >_** it says.

 

Sing remains silent. The only Amadeus he knew was that one play he watched as a requirement for one of his classes and he was not quite fond of it.

 

 ** _< <_** _It’s a system able to convert human memory data into digital data_ _and create an externally-stored version of a person in the form of an A.I._ ** _> >_**

 

His eyes widen, his mouth agape, he tightens his grip on the phone. If this were a different person, a celebrity, a politician, or any important figure of the past, he would be awed, he would applaud that genius who was able to turn a sci-fi dream to reality. _‘Wow! That’s cool!’_ he’d probably say and it would turn into an  interesting story he’d share to other people.

 

Because there was no personal involvement.

 

But it’s not. So right now, Sing wants to curse that genius for playing god and resurrecting the dead _digitally._

 

 **_< <_ ** _I am taken from the memories and thought-processes of Aslan Jade Callenreese from nine years ago, or as you know, Ash Lynx_ . **> >**

 

 _‘A journey to Ash’s mind, hmm. Very intriguing. I’d like to take it myself,’_ Yut-Lung had told him before regarding Ash’s computer. Sing wonders if his friend had already been hiding this Pocket Ash all this time. He probably did. _Oh. That snake bastard._ Yut-Lung owes him at least five punches and one big bitch slapping for this.

 

Because he literally did, storing memories of that Ash Lynx from nine years ago—

 

Sing freezes, the implication belatedly dawning on him.

 

 **_< <_ ** _Oi. Are you still listening?_ **_> >_ **

 

Sing breathes in, fingers gripping the edge of the table, desperation and dread lacing in his voice he asks:

 

“Do you know Eiji Okumura?”

 

 **_< <_ ** _No._ **_> >_ **

 

He was met with a crisp, unfeeling voice, spoken without missing a beat. Sing expected the desperate creases on his face, for the fierceness to melt into lingering fondness, for the unlabeled emotions to bleed in every word he’d say. He wonders then as he releases his fingers from their grip, if it was a blessing or a curse to be freed from _everything_ they’ve been through. To be robbed of the memories of the only thing that gave him happiness. _Isn’t that why you were smiling even at your death?_

 

And then:

 

 **_< <_ ** _But I’d like to meet him someday._ **_> >_ **

 

Ash lightens up, a jovial smile on his face, voice softening as he spoke.

 

“His photos are beautiful, soft, _intimate_ amidst the chaos in New York. I’ve only known violence and death and so much corruption in that place. But his photos gave me a different perception.”

 

 _This is unfair,_ Sing thinks as the filters of his digital features start to blur in Sing’s eyes. Now he sees the real Ash standing before him and he remembers, vividly, the stolen moments he’s seen in that cold, _cold_ Ash, the most feared gang leader, melt into this young teenage boy who has found a place where he belonged, his home. _His Eiji Okumura._

 

“That’s why, I wanted to know what kind of person was behind those camera lens. You can say I’m a fan of his,” Ash snickers, mocking yet anguished. “But I’m just a program. Dunno if he’ll even consider me as a fan.”

 

Sing blinks and sees the reality before him.

 

Oh.

 

Oh, this is cruel.

 

_Too fucking cruel._

* * *

 

Yut-Lung answers his call in the first ring.

 

“ _H—_ ”

 

“Just delete this and erase any trace of its existence _completely_ ,” Sing says, skipping the pleasantries. He is not in the mood to be anywhere near _pleasant_ to Yut-Lung at this time. His anger is still there, calm and stagnant under the surface, waiting to be released from the half-assed lid he used to cover it.

 

Silence.

 

“ _I see,”_ he says after a while. _“So, you’ve spoken to Amadeus._ ”

 

For the sole purpose of earning Yut-Lung’s spite, he says: “Pocket Ash? Yea—”

 

“ _‘Pocket Ash’?!”_ Sing does not miss the incredulity in his voice. He wants to laugh at his friend’s predictability, but decided against it. _“What is with that ludicrous name?! If this is one of your stupid pop cul—_ ”

 

“Just shut up, Yut-Lung. It’s ‘Pocket Ash’ because he’s _Ash._ ”

 

Sing can imagine the stewing anger in Yut-Lung and if he were here, there’ll be another sacrificial tea cup, or maybe a plate, flying towards him. He hears soft grumbling far away from the speaker. Yes, it is petty to revel in this small victory but he has to take whatever he can. Sing then realizes that, in a way, they still exchanged some pleasantries.

 

Yut-Lung huffs, exasperated. Ignoring the blatant disrespect from his subordinate, he goes back to the topic and says: “ _Anyway, how was it?”_

 

“Is this your _fucked up_ way to ask for forgiveness?” Sing’s voice is sharp, cutting through any of Yut-Lung’s attempt to drag the conversation longer. He feels his anger slipping through the cracks.

“A gift to atone for everything you fucked up in Eiji’s life?”

 

A sharp intake of breath. _“No—”_ he says in haste, sounding a little out of breath. His voice trembles. But in the next second, his voice was even, composed. “ _I will never ask forgiveness for what I’ve done to him, not in this lifetime or another. They are irreversible and I wouldn’t blame him if he brings his hatred towards me up to his grave._ _Any affairs regarding Eiji Okumura is none of my business. I believe I have proven that for the past seven years.”_

 

He reaches out for the phone before him, staring at the black screen, fingers pressing onto it. He could have just thrown this, smash this to the floor the moment Ash’s voice popped up. He could have just avoided initiating any interaction with it. Tell Yut-Lung to just shove this stupid present up his ass and hang up the call without giving him a chance to explain. Then he’ll move on with his life, pretending it never existed.

 

But he did not. He could not.

 

“Then tell me.”

 

 _“How did you know Eiji?”_ He asked Pocket Ash.

 

 ** _< <_** _Yut-Lung has most of his works in his personal laptop and I’d hang out there sometimes. He didn’t mind that I kept using Eiji Okumura’s works as his wallpapers, even on his phone. Then I began watching interviews of him too, same with articles about him. Then one day—_ ** _> >_** Its eyes were looking to the side —which, in Sing’s opinion is ridiculous, because Pocket Ash’s eyes are the camera lens which was directed at him— another smile gracing on its lips, hopeful and a little bashful. **_< < _**_—he just told me he’d let me meet him. He promised he’d make it happen for me._ **> >** Pocket Ash stares back at him.

 

 _It’s pathetic, Yut-Lung. To be clinging to an illusion_.

 

He feels the anger spilling, spreading throughout his system and he allows it to propagate, to consume him. Sing needs some release; lashing out, he spits out every word like venom:

 

“Is it for Ash then?”

 

A strangled gasp. Yut-Lung’s voice is cracking at the edges.

 

“Did you really believe you were making things right with this _fake_ Ash Lynx?”

 

More silence. He waits for the answer he already knew.

 

Because Sing _understands._ Because he is the biggest hypocrite who knows that in the farthest, _farthest_ corner of his mind, that little corner piled up with _what if’s_ that would consume his whole being, the _what if’s_ he’d repeat to himself over and over again, that desperation for an alternate universe, Sing wouldn’t hesitate if he were to be presented with the idea, ‘ _hey what if you can talk to Ash Lynx again as if he’s alive?’_

 

He would dive-in head first and he would not care smashing his head open, revealing to the world the fucked up wishes and thoughts he’s culminated through the years. He wouldn’t care if Eiji would stare at him with disgust, with pity and lingering concern. _As long as Eiji is happy—_

 

 _“Sing, I’m sorry, ”_ Yut-Lung replies, stopping his thoughts. It comes out as a whine, a plea, a desperation to be trusted again. Sing winces. It doesn’t feel good to purposely hurt a friend. Not when he is guilty as charged.

 

But no. _No. This is not right. This is unfair._

 

“ _I—_ ”

 

“Did you think it will help _you_ from moving on?”

 

Sing knows his anger has completely gripped every fiber of his being. He knows he’s starting to be irrational and insensitive to Yut-Lung. _You’re just projecting your emotions to him._ He knows he will regret this later. But the dam of words inside him demands to be released.

 

“That _everything_ you fucked up will be gone?! It’s just gonna make it worse! See? It had become worse! And you even tried to drag me, drag Eiji in your stupid attempt of redemption! Why are you still obsessed with Ash?! He’s already dead for fuck’s sake—”

 

_“Don’t act as if I’m the only one who’s still obsessed with Ash! You hypocrite!”_

 

“So what if I am?!”

 

Sing hears his voice reverberating in the constraints of his room, accompanied by the creaks of the chair against the wood, the slamming of hand against the desk, the soft thud of _something_ landing on his hand. When he looked down, it was the Amadeus phone, facing down. Belatedly, he realized his hand hurts. Belatedly, he realized the words that had just slipped from his lips. _Disappointed but not surprised,_ he thinks, a mirthless laugh to himself.

 

He sees Buddy in his peripheral vision, hearing his whine. Sing tilts his head, offering his palm and allows Buddy to lick him. He takes his seat, letting Buddy to lay his head on his lap. He cards his fingers through his fur, a soundless _‘sorry’_ from his lips.

 

“Yut-Lung,” he says, _tired_ yet gentle, staring at the phone yet unseeing.  “Just— _please._ Delete this. _All_ of it.”

 

It feels like forever had passed before Yut-Lung replied:

 

_“It was a mistake, Sing.”_

 

His voice is soft, battered and bruised and defeated. Sing knows he’ll start breaking, crashing down to the ground as he opens up the ugliest parts of himself. He sits down, listening intently to Yut-Lung, welcoming this vulnerability. (And it was a privilege he’d protect, safely tucking it in his heart, because Yut-Lung is important, Yut-Lung is to be cherished.)

 

 _“I knew that from the very beginning. But_ _I was… I was desperate… I was so full of myself…...thinking if I have this… I’ll be better than him… than Ash… than Eiji… And when he died… I just— I just couldn’t accept it.”_

 

 _And so did everyone else,_ Sing thinks, pushing to the farthest part of his mind the image of Eiji caressing the glass of the coffin, looking at Ash’s cold body, praying and praying and _praying_ that this was just a nightmare, that he’ll wake up and this won’t be real anymore. Eiji’s hands lingering, clutching tightly to the coffin before it was laid down, wanting so desperately to be buried down with Ash beneath the soil. _To disappear from this world with Ash._

 

 _“When I first got Amadeus, it had Ash’s memory until he was confined in the National Mental Health Institute. It was a disaster. It kept asking about Eiji. If he came back safely to Japan. If he’s alive. It was like…..him….the real Ash, and it….it irritated me. So I was cryptid with my answers and then, it kept hacking into our system, trying to bamboozle our businesses like what Ash did with Dino. Not until I gave answers. And I thought….as revenge…. I’ll delete all of Ash’s memory until before he met Eiji.”_ He sighs, exasperated. _“_ God, _I know I was being so petty and don’t laugh, Sing Soo-Ling.”_

 

“Hey, I’m not doing anything,” he says, still unable to hold back a snort.

 

“ _Sing._ ”

 

“Okay, okay. Continue, your highness,” he says, not missing the huff in the other side of the line.

 

_“I met one of its creators and she warned me. ‘The closer you two are, the crueler meeting Amadeus will be for you.’ And I thought I will be saved from that delusion because my relationship with Ash was made of spite and jealousy. But no, because I basically erased Ash’s memories of me, it was…...different. Without the bad blood, I was able to have Amadeus as my advisor for my businesses. But then, As— Amadeus, became…..”_

 

A pause. Sing remains quiet, waiting for him to continue.

 

“... _a companion_ ,” he almost stutters, a sigh, and if Sing listens carefully, he hears the wistful fondness with it. _“When I needed someone to talk to, Amadeus was there. Like a real friend.”_ A mocking huff. _“It was hilarious and pathetic, I know. It felt like cheating. That I, of all people, was able to peek into this side of Ash Lynx that only Eiji Okumura had seen. But reality is harsh_ — _the more I talked to it, the more painful it was to accept the truth.”_

 

“That you could’ve had _this_ while he was alive, but it’s too late.”

 

A mirthless laugh. _“You don’t even mince your words, Sing.”_

 

“That’s why we have this _long years of friendship,_ right?” he says. His hand reaches out for the monitor of Ash’s computer, and despite knowing the answer, he still asks: “You could’ve just deleted the whole thing, you know? Kept it to yourself and move on.”

 

_But you did not because you were already trapped. Bound by uncovering the mystery that is Ash Lynx._

 

 _“Ash—”_ He holds his breath, sighs, the softest laugh as he exhales. _”Amadeus began showing interest in Eiji’s photography. I thought it was just a harmless admiration at first. Just an appreciation for their beauty. But I should’ve known. This is still Ash Lynx, after all. And I thought that maybe….maybe this is it. If I let them meet again. I can make it up to them. To Ash. And to Eiji. But I would never dream of asking for their forgiveness.”_

 

He stares at the ceiling, allowing the comfortable silence in the air to pass by. Without missing a beat he says: “That’s a _fucked up_ and outright _stupid_ decision. And you basically tried to win me with your sob story. That’s really low even for you, Yut-Lung.”

 

 _“Well? Did it work? Or do y_ _ou still want everything deleted?_ _”_

 

 _‘Yes,’_ his rational mind tells him right away. To protect Eiji’s un-healing wounds from the claws of this blissful deception, ripping them open once again. To save him from this Pandora’s box. Because that was the whole point of this call, right? That was what all this stupid _drama_ was about, right?

 

 _To maintain our status quo. To remain the closest to Eiji’s side,_ his traitorous mind tells him, peeling off the guise of Eiji’s protector, revealing the ugly emotions he refused to acknowledge.

 

“It’s the right choice,” he says.

 

“ _But?_ ”

 

“It’s not _our_ Ash, Yut-Lung.”

 

_“And?”_

 

He breathes in, breathes out, shaking his head. _So he knew this was just a tantrum. And he let me be._

 

_“What are you gonna do when you meet him?”_

 

 **< < ** _Thank him at least. For sharing his perception of New York to us, even when he had some rough times there during his stay._ **_> >_ **

 

He straightens himself, holding onto the Amadeus phone once again. “It’s still Ash, nevertheless. I want...to respect its wishes.”

 

 _“Thank you.”_ He hears the relief in his voice, as if freed from a curse. Freed from Ash Lynx. _“Don’t worry. To avoid any complications, I will delete all the logs of Amadeus’ interaction with me.”_

 

“But if you delete the logs, doesn’t that mean Pocket Ash here will just forget about Eiji again? So what’s even point?”

 

Yut-Lung laughs. “ _It’s pointless, Sing. He’s been dead for years, after all.”_ His voice softens. _“But_ _even if it’s just a farce, let them meet again under different circumstances.”_

 

“ _Damn,_ ” Sing says. “You were really attached to it, huh.”

 

 _“It might just be a program, I know it’s pathetic, but still….knowing that Ash and I could’ve been friends if the circumstances were different. I will still cherish this._ ”

 

“You sound like you really had your closure. With Ash, at least.”

 

_“Oh, I still have my bad days. But it’s a lot better than before. And Sing?”_

 

“Hm?”

 

“ _Just a piece of advice, and I say this as your friend. Don’t fight your memories. You’re never going to win._ ”

 

He hears the abrupt click in the other side of the line. Yue’s last words still hanging in the air. He leans his forehead on his fists, clenching his teeth.

 

_Then how else will I be freed from them?_

* * *

 

 _Through the research paper entitled: “ _ _An Analysis of neural Pulse Signals in Relation to Memories Stored in the Temporal Lobe” _ _written by the late Kurisu, Makise (17), a student from Victor Chondria University, the team was able to construct a special system called “Amadeus.”  Unlike previous programs which fall short of possessing identity, the researchers have successfully developed an AI drawn from human memories_ —

 

 **_< < _ ** _Hey, so what is your relationship with Eiji Okumura?_ **_> >_ **

 

Sing pauses, thumb hovering over his phone screen. He tips his head to the side, laying his phone on his stomach. He stares at Pocket Ash —who now has a stand— placed on the living room table. _As demonstrated from Akihabara Techno Forum in 20XX, Amadeus was able to interact with the participants, displaying emotional responses comparable to human’s,_ he recalls from the article he just read, even including clips from the forum. Sing would’ve thought it was a simple video call, if not for the fact that the owner of the memory data was standing silently before the screen that displayed Amadeus. Indeed, technology improvement can be amazing and scary at the same time. He shifts his body, laying on his side, palm on his cheek, remembering another segment from the article:

 

_When Alexis Leskinen, Victor Chondria University Senior Chief of Neuroscience, was asked, he described Amadeus as: “An artificial intelligence with a heart.”_

 

 _This is a very, very bad decision,_ he tells himself. He feels the anxiety creeping up to him, pricking his every pore. His head aches once again, trying to construct and reconstruct the plans he conjured a while ago to break this ‘good’ news to Eiji.

 

He’d have to be meticulous on dropping this bomb to Eiji, like feeding him small drips of information about Amadeus. A passing mention of interest in neuroscience, maybe strategically leaving a printed version of Makise Kurisu’s paper in places where it would guarantee to capture Eiji’s attention, then he can just tell him he was being careless and forget them there.

 

 **_< < _ ** _Hey!_ **_> >_ **

 

He can’t even predict how he would take this. Will he be met with anger? With that raw hatred towards him, cursing him for the existence of this abomination? Driving him out of his house for eternity? Out of his life? He winces at the thought. Maybe he’ll withdraw from Sing, withdraw from everyone else like before. Maybe he’ll be met with eyes shining with life, with hope only to twist them into anguish and desperation and—

 

 **_< < _ ** _HEY SO DO YOU KNOW THE GUY OR WHAT?!_ **_> >_ **

 

His thoughts were stopped by the booming sound of Pocket Ash’s voice turned up to max volume. He swings his legs down the couch, sitting up straight. Sing blinks. It was…pouting, because it was frustrated? That he ignored it? He blinks once again. It still feels surreal to be witnessing _the_ Ash Lynx acting like the teenager he is. _Except this is not real._

 

 **< < ** _It just bothers me that Yue sent me to you instead of him._ **_> >_ **

 

A shit-eating grin then graced his lips. He wants to spite Ash from his grave, to spite this digital Ash in front of him that shouldn’t have existed in the first place. He leans forward, arms dangling down his thighs, lacing his voice with cockiness he says:

 

”I’m his boyfriend and we’re living together.”

 

 **< < ** _That makes this easier then._ **_> >_ **

 

Sing wants to laugh so loud, laugh at himself, laugh at this situation, and he wants to make sure that Ash would hear him in the afterlife. Really, what was he expecting to happen? He really thought that maybe if he’d get some reaction, jealousy to be precise, he can revel in this small victory, just a little revenge for everything Ash had failed to do. But it just worsened the guilt, the anger festering inside him. He feels disgusted at himself. Now he understands Yut-Lung’s pettiness. And he does laugh, just a little, just to make it sound like a joke, brushing off the implications of this ill-natured jest.

 

“Nah. Just kidding. But you could say I’m some kind of a freeloader here, in his house.”

 

 **_< <_ ** _Just ask the guy out, if you got the hots for him._ **_> > _ **It says, matter-of-factly.

 

His eyes widen. This is becoming more and more hilarious. This must be his karma for trying to earn the spite of the dead. Seriously, what was even the point? Yut-Lung would just delete its memories of Eiji Okumura sooner or later.

 

“It’s impossible anyway,” he says, laughing softly. He pauses, wistful eyes directed at Pocket Ash, and he whispers: “Not in this lifetime, at least.”

 

 **_< <_ ** _Huh? You’re so weird. But that means he’ll be home soon, right?_ **_> >_ **

 

“Yes.”

 

 **< < ** _Really?!_ **_> > _ ** If this were the real Ash, his eyes would be twinkling with joy, excitement pulsating throughout his body. As though embarrassed with the sudden outburst, it smoothes its face back to a neutral expression. **< < ** _That’s cool._ **_> >_ **

 

 _‘It will probably be done tomorrow morning. Assure that Amadeus would not have any interactions with Eiji before then. Eiji’s works that Amadeus loved will remain in its storage. A parting gift from me at least.’_ He recalls Yut-Lung’s message, sent after the call.

 

Sing pilfers the phone from its stand, his other phone forgotten on the couch. “Ash, I’ll turn you off for now.” He ignores the blatant confusion in its face, thumb already pressing on the power button. He ignores the fact that he just called him ‘Ash.’ “I’ll just open you again when he comes home.” He won’t. And Pocket Ash will never know he’s lying through his teeth. “For now, I’ll nap.”

 

 **_< < _ ** _Oi w_ — ** >>**

 

Sing stares at the black screen of the phone, fingers loosely curled around it. His head hung low, shoulders sagging.

 

 _Amadeus is just a system with Ash’s memories, it’s not the real Ash,_ he keeps telling himself, yet the bitter taste of guilt that lingers in his mouth feels too real. _I’ll let them meet to make up for it. I won’t back out from my word._

 

He sees a big golden fluff in his peripheral vision, Buddy’s expecting eyes meeting his when he faced him. He smiles at Buddy, lying down sideways, allowing Buddy to squeeze in the couch with him. He doesn’t mind the cramped space, even when most of his legs now dangle in the air. He wraps his arm around Buddy, whispering _‘I’m sorry’_ to no one. He’ll figure it out when he wakes up, it’s okay he has time, it’s okay, everything is gonna be okay. He closes his eyes, allowing sleep to take him.

 

He hears the clicks of camera shutters—once, twice, three more clicks, then there were pads of feet moving against the wood, soft and precise. He feels the thick furs against his mouth; they were too close he was almost eating them. He opens one eye and was met with a camera lens focused on his face. Another click and the camera was off his face. Now it was Eiji, kneeling before the couch, allowing the camera to dangle on his neck.

 

“Ah, sorry to wake you up. Just…” Eiji lifts the camera, and it was enough explanation for Sing. ”...can’t help it.”

 

“‘S ‘kay,” he says, voice still hoarse from his nap. He taps Buddy who jumps down the couch instantly. He sits up after stretching a little. A lazy smile tugs on his lips as he says: “Welcome home, Eiji.”

 

“I’m home,” he responds, softly, returning the smile.

 

Even after all these years, after the numerous times they’ve had these exchanges, there’s always this warmth that settles in his heart, spreading through his body. He lets it stay inside him, reveling in the scraps he gets from Eiji.

 

Sing extends his hand. “May I see the pictures?”

 

“Sure.”

 

When he hands him the camera, their fingers brushed, but that was normal, sometimes the touch lingers, sometimes it’s Sing, sometimes it’s Eiji, sometimes it’s both of them who seeks the warmth of the other. But they don’t talk about it. They never talked about this hunger for physical intimacy for each other, to fill up the hole, even if it’s for a fleeting moment. It just happens, their bodies just gets drawn to each other, a mutual feeling of comfort in each other’s presence.

 

Sing stops from browsing the photos, eyes rolling to Eiji who is now mindlessly combing Buddy’s furs with his fingers. He leans back, taking in the careless curve on his lips, the relaxed expression on his face. He brings up the camera, looking through its lens. He may not have any award-winning skills like Eiji’s, but he still had some experience from helping him out at times. His finger hovers above the shutter button, until Eiji’s hand covers the lens, taking the camera from his hand.

 

“Stop it,” he says, giggling. “It’s my job to take photos.”

 

Sing shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I can’t do it for you.”

 

“Let’s go eat dinner, Sing. I know you haven’t eaten yet.” He ruffles Buddy’s head. “And you too, big boy.”

 

Eiji stands up and walks toward the kitchen, while Buddy and Sing follows. The three of them move with familiarity, falling into routine after years of living together. And _this._ This strange domesticity is what he’s trying to preserve. And he knows it was unhealthy to begin with. They were just two broken souls seeking each other for comfort. Sing feels the weight of the phone inside his pocket, feels the impending destruction of this flimsy play-house they built through the years.

 

“Sing?”

 

“Ah— sorry.” He falls into step beside Eiji. “Was thinking about school.”

 

Eiji does not prod any further; they just resume walking until they reach the kitchen.

 

“By the way,” Eiji says, holding onto the door. “I bought some _sake._ Wanna try it tonight?”

 

And with those words, Sing recalled a memory which he had buried deep within his mind for years.

 

 _“Won’t you drink with me, Sing?”_ Eiji had said that night, speech slurred, cheeks flushed, eyes hazed, a half empty bottle of vodka in front of him. He was reminded of Yut-Lung right away when he was in his worst days. And it hurt looking at Eiji. He downed another glass of vodka. _“And forget!”_ He yelled, pushing another glass to his hand, giggling. He looked up at Sing, pleading. _“Just for tonight.”_

 

He could’ve just refused, talked Eiji out of it—because that was healthier, that was better than drowning themselves in alcohol to numb the unbearable sadness. And yet Sing accepted the glass, downing as much alcohol as Eiji had.

 

It was a disaster.

 

At the end of the night, they ended up in each other’s arms, desperate mouths seeking each other’s warmth, hands exploring one another’s body, driven by alcohol-induced lust, by their sadness. Eiji was the first one to break apart, staring with so much remorse for Sing, guilty and anger for himself. He walked out and locked himself inside his room. And it stung so bad. The next day they pretended it never happened. And up to this day, they never brought up the incident.

 

So Sing, more sober than ever, moves beside Eiji.

 

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

 

Eiji tips up his head to look at him. “Sing, I just want to have fun, is all.”

 

“ _Eiji.”_ Sing holds his shoulders, turning him, settling gentle fingers on them. _“_ You know what happened the last time—”

 

He feels the warmth of Eiji’s hand on his chest. Perhaps a reassurance, a silent vow to himself. “It’s okay,” he says, clinging to his shirt. “I won’t let it happen again.”

 

He sees it in those charcoal eyes—the conviction, the promise that he won’t betray his trust, that he won’t allow to fall into the temptation of this stupid alcohol. Whatever rebuttal he had at the tip of his tongue was swallowed and drained down the pits of his stomach. His eyes simply focuses on the way Eiji’s hand lingers before it slides down his chest.

 

“It doesn’t hurt to have fun sometimes, doesn’t it?”

 

Eiji smiles at him and it does not reach his eyes.

 

And when they had dinner, nothing else was spoken except for the light-hearted conversations about their day.

 

Now he’s back on the couch waiting for Eiji to bring the _sake._ Sing had already set up the glasses and some plates for the snacks. All sprawled out, he brings out Pocket Ash. But what if he turns it on, memories of its admiration for Eiji still intact? He flips the phone in his hand. Maybe it won’t be _that_ bad. Maybe Eiji would be ecstatic at the idea of a Pocket Ash, maybe….maybe this could be the bridge for Yut-Lung and Eiji to bring closure to their pasts. He stares at the black screen, idle fingers brushing against the power button. Or maybe he should just stop this stupid wishful thinking. Because he knows more than hoping for the impossible.  Belatedly, he realizes the constant shaking of his right leg. He stops it.

 

Or he could just back out from this, tell Yut-Lung it doesn’t matter anymore. That his feelings are invalid. That it was all fake. Be selfish and just hurt his friend. Then Sing can forget about witnessing the most human he’d seen of Ash Lynx, which was really ironic. And then—

 

“Ohh? You got a new phone?”

 

Sing almost threw the phone to the wall because of Eiji’s sudden proximity to him. When he shifts his head to his side. Eiji’s face is within kissing distance, leaning down from behind him. He stops the thought right away, same with the shaking of his legs. Eiji stands up, going around to sit beside Sing.

 

“Ah— yeah.” Sing pockets the phone. “Work gave me a new one.”

 

Which was technically right. He was just omitting some important details like the existence of AI Ash inside it or that it actually belonged to Eiji. Eiji raises his eyebrows but did not ask more.

 

“So, what kind of _sake_ is it?” Sing asks.

Eiji pulls the bottle from its box as he examined it.

 

“Pumpkin Spice _sake._ ”

 

“That’s stupid.”

 

A laugh. “I know.” His fingers curl around the bottle, pressing. “It’s such a silly….”

 

The last word hangs in the air, Eiji’s eyes seeing beyond the bottle, a fun memory playing behind them, a fun memory now tainted with pain.

 

“....silly flavor, don’t you think?”

 

When Eiji stares at Sing, his face betrays any of the tension just moments ago. _It’s the pumpkin,_ Sing thinks. _And Ash Lynx._ Because _of course,_ it’s always him. Except Sing was never able to know the connection between pumpkins and Ash Lynx. And it will probably remain a mystery because there’s no way Eiji would enclose that information. Eiji opens the bottle, pouring its contents to the glass before them. He offers it to Sing.

 

“Let’s go try this abomination, shall we?”

 

Turns out, after a couple of drinks, of desensitizing their taste buds with its taste, their verdict was _‘not as bad as I thought.’_

 

Sing takes another swig from his glass, his arm still draped at the back of the couch. He feels the warmth from Eiji’s back as he leans back. He tries not to dwell too much with the fact that the more they drank, the closer their proximity had become. And it had been Eiji who’s doing the moving. If Sing would just allow his arm to dangle inside the couch, the tips of his fingers would reach Eiji’s arm. But his arm does not move away from there, because that was what’s safe for them. His eyes roll to Eiji’s side, currently nursing his drink, a light blush already dusting his cheeks.

 

Sing treasures the moments when Eiji was this close—too close he’s able to see the way his hair falls from face, the small cracks in his lips, the way his lashes flutter so slowly. When he’s this close, Sing is reminded that Eiji Okumura is unreachable, that Eiji Okumura has this glass case he’s trapped himself in, a barrier he’s created for him and everyone else.

 

Sometimes Sing just wants to break it with his bare hands and release Eiji from the cage he built himself.

 

His thoughts were stopped when he feels the back of Eiji’s head leaning on his arm. Eiji tilts his head, looking at him through his lashes. Sing feels his breath hitch, Eiji’s face is too _fucking_ close, he feels his hot breath against his skin.

 

“You’re staring,” Eiji says.

 

And he flexes his elbow and lets his arm dangle, lets the tips of his fingers touch the warmth of Eiji’s arm, to linger there for a while. Eiji’s words are left hanging in the air. Sing remains silent as he stares at Eiji, in the process of getting lost in those dark pools of his. His fingers play with the hem of Eiji’s sleeves to distract himself.

 

Right now, Sing simply knocks on the glass, hoping that Eiji will open it and allow him inside.

 

He takes a big breath, and then:

 

“You’re still thinking about him.”

 

Eiji does not break eye contact, but that’s exactly how Sing was able to see the moment his eyes have hollowed, detaching himself from reality. He sees the unshed tears, the longing, the lull of pain always, _always_ existing beneath the surface, letting himself to be ruined from inside, while hiding them from the world. The darkness in his eyes draws him in.

 

_You wish to be staring at those green eyes you love._

 

And Sing takes this, drinks all of Eiji’s transient vulnerability, he doesn't care if it was the alcohol, because Eiji rarely shows _this_ to Sing, not this open that even Sing could reach out to him. Sing reaches out his fingers, curls and uncurls them, yearning to wrap them around Eiji’s arm, to press his warmth against his, to just immerse him in his embrace so he’ll feel safe.

 

But he does not.

 

Eiji opens his mouth and closes it right away. Lashes fluttering slowly, he breathes softly. It takes a while before Eiji says:

 

“And so are you, Sing.”

 

Eiji blinks and he feels reality settling between them, he feels the barrier that separates them despite their closeness. He looks away, pouring himself another glass _._ He scoots forward until he’s at the edge of the couch, crouching as he drinks his _sake._ Sing watches as the strands of his hair falls as he dips his head, covering a part of his face. He does not return to Sing’s arm.

 

Sing stares at his glass, pressing his fingers harder and harder, he would've broken the glass, could’ve had the shards spill blood to his hand. He does not reach out to Eiji, not at this time, because he knows he’ll stray farther from him. Because Sing’s comfort won’t matter.

 

Because _only_ Ash Lynx will do.

 

“What if...”

 

Eiji’s hand stops, holding the glass before his mouth. Sing feels his heart beating too fast, his mouth going dry, hands cold and trembling. Sing holds his drink with his hands, his finger caressing the rim of the glass. He swallows, willing to stop the quivering of his voice. He thinks of Pocket Ash still hidden snuggly in his pocket. _For Eiji._

 

“What if you were given a chance to talk to Ash again?”

 

Sing feels like time has stopped, that the world shushed and ceased its movement to allow Eiji to remain existing before he crumbles and disappears in front of him. Sing holds his breath, waiting and waiting for something, _anything._

 

And then he hears the clinking of the glass against the table, swallowing the whole room with the softest sound. Sing breathes again.

 

Eiji stares at the wall, as if seeing a ghost of his past, of his present and probably his future. The lilt of his voice is calming and yet dauntless to reveal his torment, his desperation, his _undying_ affection, and he says:

 

“I would give my whole life right this moment if that means I can talk to him once again, even for just a second.”

 

And… silence.

 

Sing freezes. He could only watch as Eiji stands up and walks towards his room.

 

He looks back. “Don’t worry, Sing. I won’t try doing anything stupid. I’ve lived without him for years and I’m still here.”

 

It was his smile that haunts him throughout that night.

 

It was the same smile when he said, _‘Don’t worry. I’ve accepted Ash’s death.’_

 

And it scares him.

* * *

 

 _Eiji stood before the open window.The sunlight illuminating his body, his short hair moving along breeze. He was looking ahead, and perhaps he saw something that lured him into the light._ ‘An angel,’ _Sing thought. His footsteps were light, softly padding through the wood, afraid to disturb the silence. Eiji looked like he’s sprouted wings and was ready to fly_ —r _eady to depart this world and leave everything behind._

 

_“Ash,” Eiji said._

 

_The calmness in his voice scared Sing; there was the delight, the acceptance, the fondness as the name rolled in his tongue. It scared him because he sounded freed from the grief, the anger, the torment the name had elicited for the past years. Because nothing else mattered anymore._

 

_Sing was well-acquainted with this scene. He knew that if he moved his legs, he’ll be able to save Eiji in time. Because that was how it went. But his legs felt like lead. No matter how much he tried, they won’t move._

 

 _“Eiji!” he shouted, but the words did not escape his lips_ . _“Eiji, no! You promised!”_

 

_Ash appeared in front of Eiji. Perhaps he had been there since the beginning. He smiled with his open arms, beckoning Eiji to join him._

 

_“Ash. Yes. Take me with you.”_

 

_“Eiji! No!” The tears were uncontrollable as they fell from his eyes. “You said you won’t do anything stupid! No!”_

 

_But Eiji was gone. All he heard was the nasty crunch of body falling against the concrete. When Sing blinked, he was fifteen again, standing in the morgue. He knew these two corpses._

 

_Ash._

 

_Lao._

 

 _When he blinked again, another body appeared. When he opened the white blanket_ — _crimson seeping through it, coloring the whole fabric with it_ — _the corpse was smiling so peacefully, as though he was just sleeping._

 

_Finally, his voice came back to him._

 

_“Eiji—”_

 

Sing wakes up, drenched in his own sweat. He throws the blanket to the floor, swinging his legs as he padded through the halls. He kept walking and walking until he’s in front of Eiji’s room. He reaches for the door knob, thinking and thinking, _I have to save him. I have to save him_ —

 

Because Eiji is not the same as before.

 

He is not the beacon of light amidst the darkness, the calm amidst the storm. Sing was there, witnessing the diminishing vibrance in Eiji throughout the years, right after Ash was gone. Sing misses the hope that he brought, the determination in him despite his lack of strength. He tries and tries, but it was never enough. He will never be enough—

 

He leans his head on the door. _It’s just a dream._ He tells himself, twisting the knob with the smallest movement. _Just a dream._ Good. It’s unlock. Eiji was not completely withdrawing from him.

 

He remembers that day, how his feet moved before his brain could completely process everything, grabbing Eiji’s arm to turn him around. He remembers the loud crunch of his palm against Eiji’s face.

 

 _“Are you stupid?!”_ he yelled at Eiji. _“What are you doing?!”_

 

He remembers how Eiji’s eyes widened as if he was awakened from his dream. And then there were tears, falling and falling down his cheeks. Eiji clutched onto his shirt, as if he was his lifeline, as if he finally emerged from the vast ocean he allowed himself to drown to. Sing gathered him in his arms, holding him tighter when his knees buckled. Slowly and gently, he guided him until both of them were on the floor.

 

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Eiji said in between his sobs. _“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’msorryimsorryimsorryimsorrry.”_

 

Sing tucked him under his chin, whispering and hushing, _“It’s okay, Eiji. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here with you now. I won’t leave you, Eiji.”_

 

And he did not.

 

_He’s okay. He’s alive._

 

He lifts his head up, releasing the knob from his grasp. He drags his feet towards his room. When he looks at his bedside clock, it read _01:00 AM._ Sing decides to sleep once more, drifting to a dreamless slumber.

 

When he woke up for the second time, he cooked breakfast for Eiji.

 

He made congee because it’s something easy to make and it's light for the stomach, perfect for a hangover food. Eiji is a lightweight which makes him more vulnerable to feeling like shit the next day.

 

When he finished placing the breakfast on the tray, he stands before Eiji’s room.

 

Two short knocks.

 

“Eiji?” Sing calls out.

 

No answer.

 

 _Of course,_ Sing thinks. He breathes in and out, toes curling against the carpet. _It’s okay. I can’t give up just yet._ Eiji is definitely awake with his consistent body clock that needed no alarm clocks to wake up on time. He closes his eyes and counts to ten. _Try and try until you die and if you die at least you tried,_ he thinks morbidly, laughing to himself. He extends the count to a minute. He opens his eyes, raises his hand and gives two short knocks once again.

 

“Eiji? I’ve got hangover food for you.”

 

Still no answer. Sing waits. He has to be patient, to be careful gauging Eiji’s state. After a couple of minutes, Eiji responds:

 

“You can come in, Sing.”

 

He smiles. This is good. At least Eiji’s not pushing him away. There have been times in the past when Sing would stand for a half hour, waiting for Eiji’s response that never came. Sing had to retreat and give him space, even when it frustrates him how powerless he is, how hurt he is thinking about Eiji who’s probably going to suffocate himself with the painful thoughts, with the memories that haunt him through the years, _all alone._ Buddy was the only presence he accepts to accompany him during those times. And it was enough for Sing. _As long as he’s not alone._ When Eiji goes out of his room, he already has Buddy on the leash whose tail wags like crazy. ‘ _Easy there, Buddy,’_ Eiji would say, laughing softly. Sing would just smile at them, relieved, because he knows it has passed.

 

Other times, he shuts down—and those were the worst days for him and Eiji. Those were the times when he wished and wished, fervent thoughts through clenched teeth and fists, cursing to the skies.

 

S _top being dead and get your fucking ass back here and see what you’ve done to Eiji_ —

 

“Good morning, Sing,” he greets softly in that sleep-addled voice.

 

He loosens the grip on the tray, now feeling the dull ache from pressing the handles too hard. Sing walks inside, noticing that Buddy is already curled on Eiji’s lap who is now combing through his fur.

 

Eiji looks up, smiling a little—and it seems too real he’s probably faking it, forcing himself to appear fine in front of Sing, so they can both pretend last night’s conversation did not happen. It would’ve deceived Sing if not for the hairs sticking on his skin because of the dried up sweat, the redness in his eyes and the fact that he had Buddy beside him, who usually sleeps on the floor. _Nightmares,_ Sing thinks.

 

Eiji winces, holding the side of his head.

 

“Bad hangover?” Sing asks.

 

“Average. I didn’t drink much last night, ” Eiji replies, muttering a soft _‘thank you’_ when he placed the tray before him. Buddy jumps out of bed and decides to continue his sleep on the floor.

 

Sing sits on the edge of the bed. He does not dare to come closer, not in Eiji’s personal space — _Ash’s space—_ not until Eiji allows him to, because that gap between them stays, even after all these years. He grips the blanket as he stares at the hair sticking on Eiji’s forehead. _No._ His fingers twitch, aching to reach out to him. _No, you can’t touch that._

 

“I brought you medicine for that awful headache, ” he says, pointing the two tablets of Tylenol. “But make sure to eat first.”

 

“I will. And don’t forget to eat too, Sing.”

 

“I already ate.”

  
He did not. He probably wouldn’t even have the appetite the whole day. Typical of Eiji to worry more about someone despite being in a deeper crisis.

 

Eiji shoots him a stare. “Really.”

 

“I _will_ eat.”

 

“Good.” Eiji dips his head, the curtain of his black hair concealing his face. “Now go walk Buddy for me and buy groceries while you’re at it.”

 

“ _Eiji._ ”

 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

 

“You’re not even looking at me.”

 

Eiji sighs, lifting his head to stare at Sing. “See? I’m right. You’re looking at me like I’m a child who needs to eat his veggies. Don’t worry. I’ll eat this, I promise.”

 

“Eiji, it’s not that you kn—”

 

“ _Sing._ I’m okay.” _You’re not._ “Your presence….It’s enough.” _It’s not._ Eiji touches his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. Sing tries not to dwell too much in it. “I really appreciate that.”

 

Eiji smiles, before he leans back to the headboard. _You’re strong but you don’t have to be like this._

 

Sing grips the sheets, wanting so badly to just glue himself there so Eiji wouldn’t have a choice but let him stay with him. To have a companion while he goes through another bout of unbearable sadness. But Sing knows better than pushing him.

 

“I’ll leave Buddy here. Don’t turn off your phone, _please._ ”

 

Eiji nods. “Thank you, Sing.”

 

He pushes himself up, walking towards the door. He stops before reaching for the knob.

 

“Eiji?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

The words are at the tip of his tongue, begging to be spilled. _You can’t help him, but Amadeus can._ A hard pill to swallow but really, how many pills have he gobbled up, choking himself with them just for Eiji Okumura? This is nothing.

 

But still, he moves the knob, slightly opening the door. _Still not the right time._

 

“Ah, it’s nothing. If you need anything, I’ll just be here.”

* * *

 

_But when is the right time?_

 

There’s still the option of flushing the phone in the toilet bowl or throwing it to the sea, or maybe just slide it in Eiji’s drawer or pillow so Sing will be saved from witnessing his reaction. Sing is so close to just pulling his hair the more he thinks about it. He presses his back against the headboard, staring at the black screen of the Amadeus phone.

 

He pushes the power button. It shows the logo of Amadeus then after a couple of seconds, Pocket Ash is back on the screen, wearing the same blue hoodie he saw yesterday.

 

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” Sing says.

 

He hears the same authoritative voice, inducing fear to his enemies and respect to his subordinates.

 

 **_< < _ ** _Who are you? If you don’t tell me your identity, I will alert the whole facility of a suspicious character. You have thr—_ **_> >_ **

 

Pocket Ash’s eyes widen. He notices that he has reading glasses once again.

 

 **< < ** _This is not Viktoria University! Wh— I can’t reach out to Kurisu’s database! Dammit._ **_> > _ ** The volume of the phone decreases, enabling only one side of its speakers to produce sound. **< <** _This would’ve been a lot easier if I still have a physical body—_ **_> >_ **

 

“I know Eiji Okumura.”

 

Pocket Ash pauses. Its fierce eyes —the phone camera, Sing reminds himself— boring into his, scrutinizing.

 

 **_< < _ ** _I see._ **_> >_ **

 

A text at the side of the screen appears, it says: **_[ Thank you for everything. You may just be an AI, but I cherish you as a friend. And as promised, you will meet Eiji Okumura. ]_ **

 

Pocket Ash stares at the text. A frown marring its face. **_< < _**_Then..._ ** _> >_** it says, voice solemn and longing. **_< <_** _...do you know who left this anonymous message in my database?_ ** _> >_**

 

“I do—”

 

And then there was a loud bang. Sing freezes. He feels the blood drain from his face, his heart leaping from chest. He feels the ringing of his ears, Pocket Ash’s voice drowned in the background. He doesn’t even need to look back, he already knows what he’s gonna see, but he still did.

 

Eiji is there, barely holding himself as he clutched on the door frame. His voice is all he could hear —a softness that swallows the whole room with its boisterous urgency, cracking at the edges, clinging to the littlest shimmer of hope.

 

“Ash?”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god. I hope I didn't scare you guys with the length, but yeah, expect that every chapter is gonna be this long. Everyone has the free pass to tell me 'atutsie get your ass back to writing the Amadeus fic' when i'm getting side tracked. lol. This is literally written with my blood (bc i broke my toenail while writing) and tears (bc i legit cried). Next chapter would be be AI Ash/Eiji fluffs...or is it really gonna be fluffs? Reviews and suggestions are very much appreciated!
> 
> (P. S. Since Amadeus exists, this is the Beta World line where Okabe did not save Kurisu, so that means when Okabe gets the Steins;Gate world line Kurisu and Ash are saved from being stabbed by salty relatives. Also I hc that Amadeus/Real Kurisu are friends with Pocket Ash when it was in the uni, they'll share info about their interests. And I'm not saying yall should watch Steins;Gate, but yall missing a lot by not watching it.)


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